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The Good, the Bad and the Handsome from the June Men’s Mags


Every month, we thoroughly examine the contents of your favorite men’s magazines, including GQ, VMan and Esquire, so you don’t have to. The breakdown—starring a prosthetic hoo-ha, Gigi Hadid, terrifying skin treatments, fatherhood, Detroit, Jerry Seinfeld, Deepak Chopra, swimsuits, sexsomnia, parentheticals, finishing cream, mandals and a thong bikini or two—now.

Behold, the month in men’s lifestyle journalism...»

The August Issues: GQ, Esquire and Details

August Issues

Every month, we thoroughly examine the contents of GQ, Details and Esquire, so you don’t have to. This month’s breakdown—starring Bryan Cranston, Porsche 911s, Aubrey Plaza, fathers-in-law, biceps, porn star names, overcoats, Jon Voight, holograms, absinthe summer cocktails and words of wisdom from Richard Simmons—is after the jump.

Behold, the month in men’s lifestyle journalism...»

Icon: Jack London

Jack London

In the long, proud bloodline of gritty journalists—the Hemingways, the S. Thompsons of the literary world—there was the original: Jack London.

In 1897, at age 21, he sailed to the Klondike in search of gold, and instead of finding a fortune, he picked up a near-fatal case of scurvy. Returning to his native Northern California a little worse for wear and a few teeth lighter, he picked up the pen and never looked back. (As you’d imagine, a running theme in his writings was man versus wild.) For all the love the Gold Rush era gets from the Americana set, there aren’t too many faces that can be put to the name—just anonymous beards and dusty overalls—but Jack London was there, in the thick of it. Looking quite stylish, for the most part.

Celebrating the man who answered The Call of the Wild in five iconic photos.»

Welcome to the Blogosphere, Superman

Dear Mr. Kent,

On behalf of bloggers everywhere, we’d like to welcome you to New Media.

Like you, we once believed in print journalism. We had subscriptions to things. We creased newspapers and dug into below-the-fold stories about stray dogs and corruption within the gas company. We snickered at comics, replied to classified ads and (acted like we) did the Sunday crossword.

We saw Newsies twice.

But as you so Jerry McGuire-ly (and Sorken-esque-ly) announced to the staff of the Daily Planet, the thrill is gone—journalism has given way to entertainment.

Consider us the best of both...»